


take two, and call me in the morning

by jumpfall



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 06:31:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpfall/pseuds/jumpfall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike gets a migraine. Harvey gets a clue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take two, and call me in the morning

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on 2011/07/11 over on livejournal.

The visual aura begins in open court just before lunch. Little black spots crowd into his field of vision, making it difficult to focus on the papers on the table in front of him. He's supposed to sit back while Harvey talks circles around the plaintiff's lawyers, demolishing their argument with such polite efficiency that an appreciatively amused observer might think it wise to break out popcorn.

While Harvey is busy being brilliant in front of the judge, Mike is supposed to sit there and either a) be Harvey's cheering squad (Mike's opinion of the order _stay there_ ), or b) shut up and learn something (Harvey's opinion of the order _stay there_ ). In reality, it works out to Mike stifling a laugh when Harvey is particularly witty and analysing his tactics when he's focused on the case.

The judge grants Harvey's injunction, which isn't surprising. It doesn't change Harvey's expression much. Mike doesn't think he'll ever reach that level of self-assurance – he doesn't know if it's because he's new to the legal profession or out of practice at putting his intelligence to the test, but he still celebrates every victory, including the small ones. Especially the small ones. Having the funds to move his Grandma to full care is great, but it can't touch the joy of being able to bring her little gifts when he comes now; a vase of flowers here, a new novel there.

Harvey circles back to the table, collecting Mike on his way out the door. "Now that's how it's done," he says smugly.

Mike is still trying to rub the dark spots out of his eyes, so he doesn't respond. Harvey glances over at him, the corners of his mouth turning down into a frown. "You need glasses?" he questions.

"What? No."

"You're squinting."

Mike figures trying to tell his boss he has a headache is going to go over about as well as telling Louis that no, he can't drop everything he's working on and trot off after him on a whim. If he wanted to inflict pain on himself, he'd rather just poke himself in the eye with a fork and get it over with.

"I'm fine."

He's got about an hour until the pain hits to get things sorted; if he can find somewhere quiet and dark to work in peace, he has some medication stashed in his desk that should get him through the day.

"We should get some lunch before we go back to the office. I want to go over Tricia Campbell's deposition again, there's a discrepancy --."

Food? Just thinking about food is enough to make Mike's stomach twist uncomfortably. The thought of eating it – or sitting across the table from someone eating it – might put him over the edge. Harvey's been pretty accommodating about Mike's screw-ups so far, but somehow he doubts hurling all over his expensive Italian shoes would go over well.

"Actually, I think I'm going to head back to the office," Mike interrupts with, pointing over his shoulder in the general direction of Pearson Hardman. "I still have to finish up reading those briefs you gave me last night."

"You told me you were finished those."

Mike blinks. It had slipped his mind that Harvey had asked about his progress as they'd walked up the steps to the courthouse this morning. "Oh – that's right, I have. Louis asked me to do a few things, though, and since I did your work last night I haven't gotten around to his yet." It's partially true – Louis dropped a stack of files off on his desk for proofing last night. Mike just happens to be mostly finished those. He could be done in under an hour, easily.

He figures that reasoning should work for Harvey. Mike has been very careful lately to finish Harvey's work before he starts in on the things that Louis asks him to do, but Louis does hold some authority over him. He can't exactly tell him to shove it up his ass.

Harvey waves him off, his focus already directed elsewhere, e-mailing someone on his Blackberry. Mike takes his leave before his boss changes his mind and starts in on the questions – or worse, tries to even the scales by assigning him even more work.

-

His head is throbbing when he gets on the elevator, the pain localized to just behind his right eye. The team of miners assigned to go to town on his head are just getting set up – it's light enough now that Mike can still function unimpeded, but it isn't going to last long.

He swings by Rachel's office first to see if he can beg use of it for the afternoon, but the afternoon lighting conditions veto that option before it can get off the ground, the sun's rays shining in through the window at her back and driving little spikes into his head.

"You can stay if you find me some coffee," she says when he walks in; she'd already spotted him by the time he'd figured out Plan A was going to fail miserably, so he can't very well leave without at least talking to her.

There's black ink smudged down the side of her left hand and a piece of hair has fallen out of the ponytail she's sporting this morning. If it's only lunch now, he doesn't want to think about how early she must have come in.

"I'll find you some coffee," he settles on, because she took pity on him in his time of need and it's only fair that he return the favour. Braving the bright skies outside is too much of a challenge, but he manages to snatch the last cup from the obscenely expensive coffee maker in the break room. He takes his leave before she can ask what he wanted, which is just as well, because he can't stand another five minutes of facing that window.

The overhead lighting in the densely packed cubicles like the one he calls home threatens to send him over the edge, so he digs through the second drawer in his desk until he comes up with the grab bag of pepto bismol, aspirin, and other assorted medications he keeps close at hand should they come in handy. The Imitrex is what he's looking for now, though, a handy-dandy migraine specific drug. He pops two pills and gathers up the scattered notes he'd shoved in the first drawer just before they'd left this morning. He hadn't trusted the sensitive documents to be safe from prying eyes in the area.

There's a small sticky note posted on his monitor, the corner already peeling up. He grins as he reads it – he already knows Harvey cares. He wouldn't be continuing to challenge Mike at every turn if he didn't. Donna is another story entirely.

_Harvey's office is unlocked. He received a call from a client, so he won't be back for another three hours. Don't be an idiot.  
\- Donna_

She's on the phone when he passes by her desk, but waves him in with a pointed look that warns him to keep from messing anything up. He wonders if Donna learned that look from Harvey or if it was the other way around; privately, he suspects the latter.

Donna must have some idea of what he needs this afternoon, because Harvey's office is on the opposite side of the building from Rachel's. The sun has already passed along this side of the building, making it a great deal easier on his eyes than Rachel's office. It's still bright, but not to nearly the same extent. He draws the blinds and darkens the glass with the remote Harvey keeps under the hollow paperweight. He's never showed Mike where it is, but Mike has always had a knack for knowing things like that. It saved him from the cops and got him this job.

He flicks back through his memory, but he doesn't remember seeing her since the courtroom, so she couldn't have independently known how he was feeling before she left that note. That leaves Rachel or Harvey to have noticed, and only Harvey would have discussed it with her. Huh. He's not one to look a gift horse in the mouth though, so he settles in on Harvey's couch – not his desk, somehow he doubts that even an especially lenient Donna would be alright with that – with a file folder, curling into the back of the couch to keep the sun out of his eyes.

-

The first wave of pain hits just as he's finishing up the last ten pages of Louis' work, coming so suddenly that he drops the highlighter, train of thought derailing abruptly. _The product is licensed and not sold_ – white hot, a thousand fireworks lighting up every neuron -- _use of the software_ – every hair spasms on the resonant frequency – _the software is_ \-- stopstopstop – _use of the software is conditional_. He shuts his eyes tight, focus turning to continuing to breathe normally. He's so, so close that he soldiers on anyways, because he's not going to be capable of much of anything shortly and he might as well be productive for as long as possible.

The last ten pages of the new software client's EULA pass by in a blur of ' _the product may not be reproduced, modified, or reverse engineered_ ' and _'the company is not liable for any loss of data related to your use or inability to use the product and/or its software updates_ ', the second of which just amuses him. Lawyers are generally the only people with enough patience to read these documents over in detail, so they have a certain freedom to slip comments like that in there without anyone noticing.

It's not particularly subtle as far as insulting legalese goes, but it was written by Louis. Mike is intimidated by Louis' position of authority over him, not his wits. His manipulation tactics throw up certain roadblocks, but they're easily visible; he's an annoyance, not a threat until such time as Mike pisses him off sufficiently for Louis to go digging and discover his dirty little secret. The Harvard lie hanging over his head keeps Mike in check. The first day made it quite clear that Harvey's career is at risk as well.

He wouldn't drag Harvey under the bus with him – not anymore, that is – because he's held to his end of the deal. _I'm inclined to give you a chance_ , he told Mike at that first meeting, and he's certainly done that. If Louis brings events to a head, Mike is prepared to swear up and down that Harvey knew nothing about his lack of a Harvard education. It won't save him from repercussions entirely – Jessica will be the first to ask why Harvey skimped on his due diligence – but it can't hurt.

There's nothing to note on the last page, so he flips back to the first of the document, closes the folder, and tosses it on the table. He should deliver the finished product to Louis before he comes looking for it and finds him hiding out in Harvey's office. God knows the man couldn't resist commenting on such an event, and Mike is too incapacitated to defend his honour properly.

As if on cue, Donna shows up at his elbow. "Where does this need to go?" she asks quietly, knowing eyes taking in the lines of pain in his forehead.

"Louis."

She swipes the folder off the table with a flourish, pointing it at him. "Don't make a habit of it – this is a one-time only event."

He nods, but that triggers the nausea again, and he winces. He intends to thank her, but the filter between his brain and his mouth acquires holes like the finest of Swiss cheeses when he's feeling under the weather, and a simple ' _You're a lifesaver_ ' comes out, "Where did Harvey _find_ you?" She's smart and funny and always, always knows what the people around her need.

She laughs; it's pleasant, not grating, but it still makes Mike and his migraine cringe.

"He didn't find me. I found him."

-

There's a text from Donna waiting when he finishes up with the client, notes on the merger paperwork he's been hired to draw up now sitting in his briefcase.

_Turned out to be a migraine. I let him work in your office until you get back. He fell asleep around two, and I haven't had the heart to wake him up._

Oh, but she's good. He had only asked her to keep an eye on Mike, not to puzzle out the problem. It was obvious back at the courthouse that something had been wrong, but if Mike wasn't going to bring it up, Harvey wasn't going to ask. He's a grown goddamn man, he can deal with his grown goddamn problems. Harvey still needs to be aware of it, though. He's responsible for Mike, and he never likes dealing with a situation without all the information possible at his disposal, relevant or not.

Harvey sees Donna before he sees Mike, her eyes narrowed in concentration the way they are when she's trying to work out a particularly nasty scheduling problem. She does things with Outlook he's never been able to accomplish in his wildest dreams. She looks up when she sees him, her features softening as she turns in her chair. The tinted glass of the walls keeps anybody walking by from glimpsing their associate counting sheep, but she has enough of a view through the open doorway to keep an eye on him.

"Migraine?" he queries, leaving the floor open for her thoughts on the topic.

"Looks pretty bad. He flinched when I went in to talk to him earlier and it couldn't have been more than a whisper."

"So I shouldn't turn on the lights and wake him up?"

She just stares him down. "You're a better man than that, Harvey Specter." She has a point, he supposes. There's no fun in kicking a man when he's down and can't put up a fight.

He slips into his office quietly, mindful of the noise. Mike has his back to the door, face pressed up against the cool couch cushions. He's almost definitely asleep, one foot hanging off the couch haphazardly. He doesn't snore, thankfully; Harvey's patience really only goes so far.

He takes the time to survey Mike, considering what he knows.

The kid's got potential; any idiot can see that. Louis can see that. That's not the point. They get a dozen applicants each year with _potential_ between legacies and a strict Harvard-only rep.

Mike's talent for recall makes for one hell of a party trick – and Harvey'll be continuing to use it as such – but it only makes him faster than the other suits occupying the desks around his cubicle, not better. It's not why he picked Mike over that room full of overeager Harvard grads. Somewhere underneath the narrow ties and the cheap suits is a man with something to prove. That, Harvey recognizes; that is the medium he can shape into something greater.

Mike's bleeding heart isn't going to help him any, but it won't hurt, either. It'll keep him driven, and that will keep him here. With his memory, he could be doing any number of things, but Harvey found him first and he's not going to let the work he's put into shaping Mike Ross into a proper associate go to waste. If he is to have one as senior partner, the last thing he needs is somebody too deferential to stand up to him. He's well aware of his own brilliance; it's his flaws that he has glossed over, his fallibility he needs to be reminded of, sometimes loudly. Mike caught one mistake he made in drafting by-laws years ago, and gloated about it for the rest of the day; not well, not smoothly, but those are things that Harvey will fix with time.

He's too open with the people he trusts, and that's dangerous. It would be so easy to manipulate Mike with a well-placed compliment here and a nudge there. He won't – Harvey's an asshole, but he's an asshole that doesn't operate in bad faith – the point is that he _could_. That leaves him with the burden of Mike's loyalty, which would be fine if it began and ended at the office; what Harvey doesn't know how to handle is Mike's gratefulness, like Harvey dropped this job in his lap solely to help him and not with an eye out for number one.

He's smart – smarter than anyone Harvey's ever met – and that's sure to prove entertaining when Mike gets used to this place. The rush of winning is part of what brings Harvey back every day. He doesn't intend to give it to the kid on a silver platter, but there's a different kind of satisfaction in watching the kid take on sharks and win.

"You're thinking too loudly," Mike croaks out with a groan. "Stop."

Harvey quirks an eyebrow over at the prone form. "I'd like to remind you that _is_ my couch." He's not a complete bastard, though; he keeps his voice down. He's never seen his associate this out of sorts before. None of the pressure they've come up against so far has affected him, but a migraine has laid him out flat. Out of the goodness of his heart, he grants Mike ten seconds longer than he normally would to develop a comeback before the point is his. When nothing comes, he moves closer to get a better look.

"You look like crap."

"Thanks for that," Mike mumbles into his pillow. Even speaking is painful. The pressure building up beneath his right eye is beginning to become distracting – he wishes something would just _give_ already, things have to be reaching a breaking point shortly. Eventually, he realizes that Harvey is still standing there, looking down at him with an inscrutable expression. It would make him uncomfortable if he still had energy left to expend on interpersonal interactions. "Er, I'm sorry I'm --."

"Shut up," Harvey says irritably, still using that carefully quiet tone of voice. Harvey is all for assigning blame, but only where it is actually due. "Should I call you a cab or something?"

"M'fine," Mike mumbles.

"I can see that."

"It's too bright to go home," Mike admits finally. "Can you hand me my bag?"

Harvey finds the requested object leaning against the leg of the table, peering into it doubtfully. Besides a pack of gum, his keys, and some loose papers, there doesn't seem to be anything useful in there. He hands it over nonetheless, watching as Mike fishes out his container of pills.

"All over the counter or prescribed by a doctor," he says before Harvey can get a word in.

Harvey rolls his eyes – if he thought for a second Mike's drug problem extended beyond pot, he wouldn't be here right now. He retrieves the unopened bottle of water he keeps in his briefcase, unscrewing the top and holding it out for Mike to swallow the two pills with. "Here."

Mike makes a grab for it, his hand going wide. If Harvey didn't know any better, he'd say he was under the influence of something now. That's not the case though -- his pupils are normal and he looks more clammy than flushed. The second time, Mike uses two hands to grip the water bottle, downing the pills and chasing it with a swig from the bottle.

Playing a hunch, Harvey takes a seat on the table and raises a hand to Mike's eye-level. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Mike's eyes focus and then unfocus on his hand, head tilting to the side. "Three." It's the right answer but it took entirely too long. Mike might has well have gotten it wrong.

"I can't see out of one of my eyes," he admits.

Harvey takes a deep breath and counts from one to ten point two, subsection c. He reminds himself that contrary to the evidence on hand, Mike Ross has somehow managed to make it to this point with his lackluster survival skills. Something must be working for him. "This doesn't concern you?"

"It happens sometimes, when they're really bad. My vision will return in a few hours or so when the pain recedes. There's never any permanent damage."

"Hmm." Harvey would prefer to refer to precedent on this rather than take Mike's word for it, but somehow he doubts that the records room downstairs keeps medical textbooks on file.

"Do you want me to get out of your hair?"

Harvey's not even convinced Mike's capable of that – he's rolled over to have this conversation with Harvey, but the lines of his face are tight with pain, and he apparently can't see out of one eye. "If I wanted you to leave, I'm perfectly capable of saying as much."

Mike is learning to speak Harvey's language: he translates that to _no_ and leaves it at that. The ratios probably work out to something like one part concern to two parts liability; Harvey doesn't want to be held responsible for Mike's disastrous attempt at making it home without depth perception. He'll take what he can get.

-

Shortly after the conversation, Mike drifts off again into a fitful sleep. It's Friday, meaning that most people will be clocking out early if at all possible. There's little chance of anyone else stumbling across the situation. It just wouldn't do for Harvey to be seen as caring.

He keeps the lighting conditions Mike had established, settling in behind his desk to finish up some paperwork quietly. His mother used to get migraines. Hers were triggered by changes in the air pressure, but it's been steady for days, so Mike's must be caused by something else. It had better not be stress, or they're doomed to a large quantity of days like these.

The clock ticks over to 8:30 without his associate having stirred, and Harvey decides enough is enough; it's a comfortable couch, but it can't be suitable for extended periods of rest. The sun is finally retreating beyond the horizon on this sweltering summer night, and it will be dark by the time he gets Mike up and mobile.

"C'mon, sleeping beauty. Up and at 'em."

Mike rolls right off the couch, landing on Harvey's feet. Wide-eyed and blinking, he says, "Tricia Campbell is lying about where she was that night – White Collar was a rerun that night, it was still on hiatus."

"You were sleeping," Harvey points out.

"I was thinking."

"You think about cases while you sleep?"

"You don't?"

Harvey rolls his eyes, but smiles despite himself. "Get up, smartass. Time to go home."

Mike rubs the sleep out of his eyes. He looks a little less like a strong wind would take him out, a little more defiant, which is just as well; as brilliant as he is, it's hard to take a lawyer seriously if they have the appearance of a kicked puppy.

"Wait, what time is it?" Mike says with a frown, fumbling for the phone in his suit pocket. "There's no way I'm going to make it to my Grandma's by nine on my bike."

Albert frigging Einstein, and he still misses the simplest of cues. "You couldn't see out of your right eye a few hours ago. You're not biking anywhere."

Mike pauses, tilting his head to the side in concentration. "How'd you know it was my right?"

"What's written on the twenty-third page of the document you read for Louis this afternoon?" Harvey counters, just to make the point. It's been awhile since Harvey's had a chance to go toe-to-toe with a worthy opponent like this; Jessica is his boss, Louis is a joke, and there are certain protocols that must be followed in a courtroom.

Mike gets to his feet when he finishes gathering his things, gripping the back of the couch tightly to steady him through the waver. It just proves Harvey's point, and Harvey pins his associate with a look that says as much before he moves to leave, dropping a casual, "I'm driving you home," over his shoulder.

The thing is, Mike's got plenty of potential as a lawyer. Harvey knew something was off with that witness deposition, but he would have had to pick apart her statement in person to figure out what. There's a certain subtlety in knowing what you're going to find before you find it. Harvey thought that was why he hired Mike, but he's not so sure anymore.

Beneath the narrow ties and the cheap suits and the ability to regurgitate law codes like no one he's ever met, there's a guy with an obsession for fist-bumps who visits his Grandma every week and orders take-out Chinese food more than can possibly be healthy. Mike Ross is more than his components. He has a knack for finding new trouble around every corner, but he's helped pull off some of the most satisfying wins Harvey's had in a long time. Harvey's not too detached to admit he's fond of the kid.

His career is going to be one hell of a journey, and Harvey is damn sure he wants to stick around for the ride.


End file.
